Who would have guessed that I, the Grand High Poobah of lapsed Catholics, would one day find herself sending away for tickets to see Pope Francis in Central Park on his first visit to the United States. It's true, I did. And I actually won them except for the fact that my husband was in California, my son had his homecoming and I got sick on the day of the procession. This didn't stop me from being glued to the television to watch as it took 45 minutes for him to travel five city blocks due to the incredible outpouring of love from the crowd. There I was with tears in my eyes hanging on his every word, in absolute awe of his seemingly endless smile, and even worrying when he looked a bit tired. This is a man who, for reasons I can't explain, has bewitched me. He fills me with enormous hope and enormous guilt all at the same time and his truth never disappoints because it seems to know no fear. He is marvelous.